


Gentle deduction

by Gracetheauthor



Series: Sherlock One Shots And Shit [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha Sherlock, F/M, Fluff, Implied Smut, Omega Reader, Protective Alpha Sherlock, Sad John, Spoiler warning for Sherlock: a character’s death is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 14:50:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracetheauthor/pseuds/Gracetheauthor
Summary: Something I came up with. May or may not add to it.I hope you like this, Kitten. I just love your stories and wanted to to give something to you.





	Gentle deduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittenofdoomage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/gifts).

It was his most recent client who set her nerves on edge. She felt anxious and disturbed around him, hiding either behind her Alpha or her Alpha friend, John. She didn’t know what it was about him that set her off, but she didn’t like him. When first introduced, he stepped towards her, and she felt as if he loomed over and there was something in his eyes that scared her on a primal level. She couldn’t help the growl that escaped her throat and she stepped into her mate’s side. 

Both her mate and their friend gave her wondering looks, but her mate saw the tells in her body language and scent, saw how the other unfamiliar male was taller than her in a way that made her uncomfortable, though whether the male did it on purpose he was not sure. He guessed the male had a job where dominance and intimidation were part it, perhaps resulting in the unintentional looming over of others shorter than him. A trait which either pissed people off, made them defensive or feel intimidated. His mate fell into the latter category though he knew it was partly due to past trauma, a symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in which certain feelings and memories are triggered by the most random of things at times. It could be a tea kettle going off, a book dropping onto a floor or a shadow of a bird passing by the window. He turned to the male who was apparently offended by the growl he had received and was unintentionally displaying aggressive body language: staring his mate straight in the eyes, lip slightly curled, brows narrowed, shoulders stiff, standing straight and still. 

“I would advise you to rethink your body language, sir,” he said coolly in that brisk and rather abrupt way of his. “That is my mate you are attempting to intimidate and since you are not in your own territory you are at risk of being torn apart limb by limb slowly and methodically with no repercussions towards John or myself as two Alphas protecting a bonded Omega is a reasonable defense in court.” A soft touch on the small of his back had him looking at her in the corner of his eye, asking silently, ‘Yes?’

‘Alpha?’

‘In a moment, Omega.’

The soft touch disappeared and she went to perch nervously in his chair, Not once did her eyes leave the other male. He turned his attention to his client, fixing him with an almost crucifying stare that John copied. 

“Sit down and tell us why you are here,” John said, motioning to the couch. The Male, Gary Morgenstern as he had introduced himself, grumbled a little bit did as asked. Sherlock went to his chair and lifted the omega up to settle her onto his right thigh and she buried her face into his neck. If not for the comforting hand on her hip, one would never guess he was showing her affection as he had fixed Moregnstern with that piercing look of thought. The one that portrayed no emotion. Once the male was done explaining his case, Sherlock gently set his Omega on her feet and stood, caressing her face in an almost absentminded gesture and tilted his head towards the kitchen. She smiled and hip checked him as she wandered into the kitchen to make tea. Morgenstern watched with narrowed eyes and a slight glare as he watched the omega leave, gaze lingering on her ass. 

The sound of two low growls had him look up and swiftly reconsider his behavior. 

“As much as your case interests me, Mr. Morgenstern,” Sherlock said fixing the man with a cold stare. “Continue to look at her that way and you will have an unfortunate trip down the stairs involving the breaking of your nose and quite possibly your arm.”

“Sherlock,” a feminine voice called in reproach. He rolled his eyes and gave Morgenstern one last withering look before striding into the kitchen. He came up to stand behind her, hands on her shoulders. 

“There is only so much blatant ogling and attempts of intimidation towards my mate that can happen before an unfortunate accident takes place.”

“He might make me uneasy, luv,” she murmured low enough to be heard only by him. “But you needn’t bloody your knuckles over such a trivial creature. He is, at best, a buzzing fly which you could easily obliterate.”

“Ah, so you believe he’s not even as worthy as a goldfish.”

She turned to run a finger just below his ear and under his jaw, causing his eyelids to lower just a fraction, the softest of purrs rumbling his chest. 

“Quite right, luv,” she murmured. “Now could you please get rid of him? His scent is making my stomach uneasy.” 

Indeed she was a little pale, and her eyes crinkled slightly as she sipped her tea, almost as if it was bitter to her. His eyes turned bright as reached a conclusion, and she looked up at him from beneath her lashes with a look that said, “Well, have you figured it out, yet?”

“You’re-“

“Yes, you’re right, but then you already knew that, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question of whether he knew. Of course he knew. 

“A pup?” He asked softly. 

She nodded, slight worry in her eyes. 

“I will do all that I can,” he promised. 

“I know,” she smiled. “You always do.” A shimmer of sadness. His chest grew tight with guilt, remorse. 

“It was her choice,” she told him softly. “She told me she knew what might happen if it ever came to that kind of situation but she did it anyways. To protect you. I wish he only understood that.”

Unbeknownst to them, John was listening, and he swallowed hard, all while keeping a steady eye on Morgenstern who looked more and more uncomfortable as the time passed. When the kettle gave a shrill whistle the man jumped in his seat and John smirked. 

Sherlock walked out of the kitchen, his expressionless eyes regarding Morgenstern as his mate came out with a two cups of tea in her hands. She handed a cup to John, then to Sherlock who now rested against the mantel of the fireplace. Sherlock accepted the tea, holding it by the handle to run a finger under her chin before she returned to the kitchen with a small smile. That was the most public affection he showed when someone other than John was around. He turned to Morgenstern. 

“I’ll take your case, Morgenstern,” he said. “But never return here or you might find yourself with a broken nose, among other various and varied injuries.”

“Sherlock,” she popped her head out to fix him with a stare, which he returned by looking at her with a sideways glance. She held her stance and after a minute he rolled his eyes and looked at John. 

“John show this man out, will you.”

It was more demand than request but John just shook his head and escorted the man out. Now that they were alone, Sherlock walked back into the kitchen to see her sitting at the table, disregarding the beakers and test tubes currently encompassing the surface. She looked up at him, worry in her eyes. He knelt in front of her, taking her left hand in his as he fingered the simple yet elegant ring on her third finger. She looked at it when he did, and then looked into his eyes to find earnest honesty in his expression. 

“When I asked you, you already knew what the question was,” he murmured. “And you also knew the answer. You’d known it for years, if not decades. You kept it hidden, or so you seemed to think, but I saw you. I always saw you. There’s no doubt to be having now.”

Tears welled up and spilled and he was the one to initiate contact, bringing her into his embrace, letting her bury her face in his neck. A floorboard creaked ever so softly, and he looked to see the man he called his best friend standing there, watching them with sadness. Sherlock tried to say all that he wanted to with his eyes, but as always, what was obvious to him was not obvious to hardly anyone else so he just mouthed, “I’m sorry, John. It should have been me.”

John shook his head with his eyes closed for a moment, hands in fists before he could look at his friend again. 

“No, Sherlock. It shouldn’t have been anybody.”

John gave a pointed look at the woman in Sherlock’s arms and scrubbed a hand down his face before coming in. Sherlock knew what he wanted, so he tapped her shoulder gently and pulled away. She looked at him a moment, then turned and smiled at her dear doctor friend. 

“Rosie is well asleep, Molly is expecting you soon, and she knew, John,” she said to him, smiling with all of the affection she felt for him. “It’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. She wanted you to be happy.”

John closed his eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks as he scrubbed his face again and took a deep breath. She stood and hugged him and he hugged her back. They said goodnight and John went home to his daughter.

———————————  
“You have a way with people,” he said, in his thinking pose.

“How’s that, luv?” she replied from where she sat half on his leg, half on the arm of his chair. 

“You deduce people much in the way that I do, except you tell them what they are feeling,” he paused for the merest second. “When they themselves do not know or realize what they are feeling. It’s a sort of gentle science of deduction, I suppose.”

“And what about you?” She asked, tucking a shower dampened curl of hair behind his ear. “What do I deduce about you that you don’t already know?”

He turned his head to finger a long strand of her own still-damp hair, expression thoughtful. 

“When we first met,” he said. “It had been when that case with the cabbie and all those supposed ‘suicides’ was going on. You arrived upstairs where the woman wearing pink was, looked at her, then John and then me. All I could deduce about you was that you’d come from the airport straight to the crime scene, that you were an expert in whatever you did, that your job dealt with things such as murder like this and that you were thoroughly disgusted by Anderson and Donovan, good with knives and not just any knives, but all knives and that you could probably come to the same conclusion about me that I had come to about you.”

“And that was?”

“The conclusion was that we both knew the other was clever, and that we would inevitably clash in only the best and most aggravating ways before ending up where we are today. Perhaps not this specific but we both knew we would likely end up either killing the other one of us or that we would become close allies. If not close allies then trustworthy acquaintances that we could rely upon for solving cases and occasionally duets, like we did the next day. Me, with my violin and you, with your piano, guitar or your own violin, whichever one you felt like doing that day. Yet another thing I deduced but only later, after you were laying on the couch thinking and I’d started playing. To anybody else, you looked like you were asleep, but your breathing was shallower than that of someone who slept and your fingers would twitch a few times every ten minutes, almost like you were playing a piano the first time, the second a string instrument.”

He looked up at her. 

“Then you opened your mouth and said, ‘Mr. Holmes, I presume, since you are about as done with these bumbling idiots as I am. Evidenced not only by your curt and dismissive tones towards two detectives over there who are more fit to be in one of Shakespeare’s most tragic of works, but also by your posture and the slight furrowing of your brows even when you are not thinking about all the definite tells here in this room that not only tell us about this poor woman, but also how she died and who she was thinking of when she carved that name into the wood of the floor.’”

She chuckled. 

“Ah yes,” she responded. “And you replied with?” She knew what he had said, she just loved to hear his deep voice. He gave her a look that said he knew perfectly why she asked him to say it. All he got in return was a wicked smile and a purr. He smiled that small but genuine smile. 

“And I said, ‘Yes, Sherlock Holmes is who I am but you already knew that, obviously. What else is obvious, however is that you are the consultant from France, judging by your accent and I place you somewhere around Monitifiquet, but perhaps also Paris. You wear dark pants and a dark shirt to better avoid people asking questions about the dried blood on your clothes, blood which is not yours, but blood that you spilled, probably with something sharp. Judging by the calluses on your fingers and the shapes beneath your shirt, jacket, pants and bra you carry knives around with you, everywhere you go. You’re rather small for a woman, standing 5 feet, two inches and weighing about one hundred and fifteen pounds, so the knives are for your own protection, plus you happen to like knives and the intimacy that comes with knifing someone in the back, quite literally. You’re good with them, professionally trained which leads me to three possible conclusions about why that is, but I think I will keep them to myself as Detective Inspector Lestrade here is looking at you like he wants to arrest you and confiscate every single blade that you have on your body. Also, going by your scent, you are an Omega, unbonded, and not interested in male Alphas as most of them are unattractive to you, are typical asshole jocks who think they have the right to do whatever they want because they have a dick.’”

They both chuckled at the memory, for John had immediately, almost instinctively reprimanded him for his language and Lestrade had gotten wide eyed when the subject of her presentation and scent had come up. It was considered rude to talk about a female’s presentation and scent in front of her. 

“And then I said to you,” she replied. “‘Well Mr. Holmes, you got everything right except I’m not from France, not originally. I’m more from Spain and Italy, Russia, Ireland, and a bit Cajun French, down in New Orleans. As for calluses, my dear sir, I believe you play a stringed instrument and you play it quite well. You’re also confident, a bit arrogant, like to be cryptic, vague and mysterious, can’t stand most normal people. Except for the ex military doctor standing there by the body, leaning on a cane he does not really need because his leg pain is psychosomatic. You’re also rather enjoying what I am saying because finally! There is someone here who understands what boredom is like, true boredom, the kind of boredom that makes you want to shoot the walls every now and again because your mind is not as easily occupied as the rest of the majority of the human race.’”

“I do love how you pretty much verbally fucked me,” he admitted. “I found your intelligence to be rather attractive and found it inconvenient that a certain body part responded a bit.”

She chuckled. “I noticed but decided against saying anything as I found you rather attractive as well and didn’t want to spoil it.”

“You also asked me for a cigarette, later.”

“I figured you smoked, and I shouldn’t have found it sexy cuz of how nasty the chemicals they put into cigarettes are, but seeing you take a drag on one, made me want to rip your clothes off.”

“Mmm, your scent made me want to drag you someplace secluded and make you scream my name. Which startled me because I rarely found interest in sexual intercourse, despite my biology. Sexual intercourse and the things that usually follow are... messy and distracting.”

“Messy and distracting hmmm?” She purred, a glint in her eyes. “I’ll show you distracting, luv.”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for a heated kiss. Soon clothes were being shed and the smell of desire filled the room. The strong, almost spicy decent if alpha male and the sweet, light scent of omega female with a milky undertone mixed together. 

The night was spent on a soft blanket by the fireplace, breathy moans, whimpers and cries of pleasure blended with murmurs of love.


End file.
